


The Waiting Dark

by cicatrix (nematode)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (temporary paralysis), Blood Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Paralysis, dark but not that angsty, lots of pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 01:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18954751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nematode/pseuds/cicatrix
Summary: Bull has always tried to avoid imagining worst-case scenarios when faced with a crisis. He's a man who takes action, whogets shit done, while the people around him fret over the what-ifs.But the worst-case scenario here is that his Kadan is lying dead at the bottom of some pit, never to be seen again.Or he hasn't died yet and is going to, scared and alone in the dark where Bull can't reach him.---Lavellan takes a fall and breaks his back, Dorian bleeds to make it better, and Bull just tries to hold it all together.





	The Waiting Dark

Bull fucking hates ruins. They're always full of weird magic left behind by dead people, spiders with heads the size of his fist, and low ceilings to bump his horns on.

They're also a great place to get cornered by crazed Templars.

There's only five of them, luckily. Dorian is ready with a blast of lightning the second they hear metal clanking down the stairs. It fries the first one to a crisp, but then it's too dark and too cramped to avoid accidentally hitting someone else, so he just attempts to keep up barriers.

Cassandra fairs better, swinging down her sword with precision to knock back the first one to lunge at her. Bull stands side-by-side with her, warding off a flurry of strikes with his axe to keep any of them from advancing behind them and reaching Dorian.

In the darkness, he loses track of Lavellan, until the Templar he's facing just drops dead, a geyser of blood erupting from his neck. And a few seconds later, Cassandra's able to plunge her sword down through the torso of another one when he suddenly buckles like his knees have been kicked out.

Bull doesn't see Lavellan slip back around them, so he must have done it to Bull's right, beyond his limited vision on that side. Bull swings down his axe, blocked just in time by the Templar knight's shield. He presses hard and the Templar's arms start to shake under the force of it but still hold steady. To his left, Cassandra is stuck in the same position, using her own shield to fend off the sluggish but strong blows the last Templar throws on her.

And then behind him, there's a clang as metal hits metal.

Bull whips his head around, and the Templar takes that chance to pull his shield down from under the axe. Had Bull not had already shifted his balance, his weight would've sent him plummeting straight onto the Templar's sword. He shoves the tip of his axe into it instead, locking the two of them into a stalemate at least long enough to get a look.

Lavellan's got both daggers crossed in front of his face, a Templar quickly backing him into a corner. Bull can just barely see that his arms are trembling under the effort to keep the sword caught between his daggers from piercing through his face.

“Where the hell did that one come from?” Bull growls. The man in front of him suddenly barrels forward with his full weight, and Bull has to pull his axe towards his chest to hold him off.

A lightning bolt strikes just to the left of Lavellan and his own opponent. The Templar's brief surprise gives Lavellan a chance to step backwards and readjust his grip.

“Lavellan, behind you!”

Bull can't tell what Dorian is yelling about, but he sees Lavellan's head swing around. He sees the Templar thrust his weight forward. He sees Lavellan take a step backward.

And then he doesn't see Lavellan anymore.

Bull's ears start to ring. He kicks the man in front of him at the same time he pushes to the left with his axe, launching him into the one in front of Cassandra. He charges over to where the last damned Templar stands, shoulders back and expression smug. Bull doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down at all, just pulls his axe back as he runs and swings it forward at the last second. Bull hardly feels it when it hits the Templar, but his hands shake when it hits the wall a second later, carrying the man's body with it. The man dies with that same smug expression on his face, chest severed entirely from the rest of his body.

Dorian rushes over, screaming curses in Tevinter as he kneels down next to Bull, knuckles clenched white.

There's a hole where the floor has crumbled, just big enough for a person. It's impossible to tell how far down it goes, the endless darkness swallowing any light from above.

Bull has always tried to avoid imagining worst-case scenarios when faced with a crisis. He's a man who takes action, who _gets shit done_ , while the people around him fret over the what-ifs.

But the worst-case scenario here is that his Kadan is lying dead at the bottom of some pit, never to be seen again.

Or he hasn't died yet and is going to, scared and alone in the dark where Bull can't reach him.

Bull roars. There's no light, no noise from the hole. Dorian looks like he's going to vomit, face gone ashen.

“You two, go!” Cassandra yells. “There was –“ She thrusts her shield up to throw off a strike. “A staircase down! Back up, to the right. I can handle these two.”

It's a better option than just jumping down the pit or throwing Dorian down there, both ideas crossing through Bull's head.

Bull takes the stairs three at a time, and can hear Dorian following him only from his footsteps, his curses gone silent.

* * *

 Lit by Dorian's green torch, the two of them barrel down a spiral staircase. With every full circle, Bull's chest tightens and he speeds up until he's practically falling down the stairs. Even though Bull ends up nearly a full story ahead of Dorian, for once he doesn't complain about the pace. Bull has no doubt he's thinking the same thing.

It's a long fucking way down.

The staircase spits them out into a dark room, and even before Dorian catches up with the light, Bull can tell from the echoes of his footsteps that it's a big one. High ceilings, damp stone floors, and walls further than he could throw an axe on all sides.

He stops, completely blind in the dark. There's shallow breaths and then a crackle behind him, before Dorian steps up to his side and offers him another one of those blue-green lanterns.

He takes it and starts walking, hearing nothing but the blood in his ears. In the strangely colored shadows, he can see there isn't much to this place. Some shelves to the side, some wooden tables – probably an old storage room already raided long ago.

“Lavellan!” Dorian calls out. “Are you here?”

Bull wants to keep moving even as he forces himself to stop, dreading the silence that could follow that question. He doesn't allow himself to hope for a response. He clenches his shoulders, eases his breath in through gritted teeth, and shuts his eyes. Numb and in control. The only way to handle this.

All of that shatters when he hears a moan. Dorian actually responds quicker, shooting over to their left. “This way,” he hisses.

Bull races over with him, quickly getting ahead of Dorian when he jumps several tables along the way.

He slows to a stop around where he thinks the sound came from. And then he stares down at the torch in his hand, and finds his hands quake when he tries to raise it. Fear takes hold of his body. What if he sees his heart crushed, mangled, in pieces on the floor and loses his mind? He could tear these ruins down, without any care for anyone or anything left in its cursed rooms.

He doesn't get a chance to tie up the ends of that thought, Dorian raising his own torch first. “Oh, Maker,” he breathes.

Bull's eye takes a second longer to adjust to the change in light. He feels acid in his throat, thinks he hears himself scream, and definitely doesn't tell his legs to move, but they carry him over anyway.

Lavellan lies in a pile of rubble, flat on his back. There's blood around him, and Bull knows from the amount that it's not enough to empty a body, but the site still makes his stomach churn. More than that, Lavellan's legs are... mangled. They bend at angles that make Bull's head pound, the rocks beneath them forcing them into unnatural shapes.

Lavellan just stares straight up, eyes and mouth stuck open in a shell of horror.

Bull kicks away enough of the rocks to kneel by his side, and shoves his torch into a crevice to keep it upright. He wraps his hand around one of Lavellan's thin wrists and feels for a pulse.

It's there. It's slow and it's hard to find, but it's there. As soon as he'd seen the body, Bull had truly thought the moan they'd heard earlier had been a trick of the head.

“He's alive?” Dorian asks, kneeling to Bull's side.

“Somehow.”

Bull then grabs Dorian's wrist, which he tries to jerk away. “What are you – “

“Flame, quickly.” Bull snaps the fingers on his other hand.

“Oh. Just _ask,_ I'm not a damn candle.” Dorian still snaps his own fingers, and a tiny flame hovers above them. Bull pulls his wrist over above Lavellan's head, moving it back and forth slowly in front of his eyes.

His pupils constrict, two even black dots shrinking at the same rate, giving Bull at least enough relief to keep going. “Come on, Kadan, follow it,” he mutters.

It takes Lavellan a second. But his eyes then fall sluggishly to the left, and follow Dorian's little flame as Bull slides it to the right. Bull lets go of Dorian, who huffs and extinguishes his fire, shaking out his wrist.

With only the barest touch of pressure, Bull places his hand on Lavellan's head and feels out as much of it as possible without moving him. His hair is thankfully dry, his head free of any major bumps.

“I still – I still had a barrier on him when he fell,” Dorian says. “I wasn't sure if it held.”

“Must have. His head seems okay, and it really should be cracked in half from that height. Trust me, I know. From experience.”

Dorian lets out a deep breath. “Thank the Maker.”

“Are you with us, Kadan? We're gonna – we'll get you healed up good and new, alright? You hear me?” Lavellan's lip trembles in response. “Fuck, that's got to hurt.”

“Yes, oh, yes. Please, Mahanon, hang in there. I may end up needing some assistance once we're back, but I can certainly get you out of here,” Dorian says with softness, reaching out to place a hand on Lavellan before stopping himself. In the dark and under the layers of clothes, it's impossible to tell exactly what parts of him are broken. “I'm so glad you're – it's nearly miraculous you're still in one piece.”

Like it's the first one in years, Lavellan starts to take a breath, but it stutters and hitches on its way in. His eyes clench shut, and he shakes his head the slightest bit side to side, barely more than a shiver.

“We've got you, Kadan. Just relax. Everything's going to be okay.” Bull unravels Lavellan's hand from its fist, flinching when he realizes the wetness he feels is blood from Lavellan's nails digging into his own palm.

“I can't – “

It's the first words he's spoken yet, hardly audible even in the silence of the ruins. Bull and Dorian both lean in, and he can see shadows waver around Lavellan's bobbing throat as he fights to choke out more.

“I can't feel my legs,” he whispers.

Bull can't help the relief that washes over him, feeling a dash of hope that they might be able to quell the pain before it hits Lavellan's brain. “Honestly, that's probably for the best, considering the shape they're in.”

Dorian leans back to look at Lavellan's lower half and nods, also seeming to relax a touch. “Oh, well, that's not completely surprising. You may be in a bit of shock.”

“No, I – I can't feel them _at all._ ” Lavellan lets out a dry sob, his voice suddenly rising in volume. “I can't feel _anything_ down there. My _back –_ ”

Bull watches in silent horror as Lavellan starts pouring tears, _bawling_ with anguished cries. He clings to Bull's hand as he gasps and chokes on air, every sob just making it worse as they wrack his bruised body. Mouth set in an expressionless line, Dorian bends down and peers at where Lavellan's back meets stone. Whatever he sees drains all color from his face.

“I'm – I'm never going to walk again. I'm going to be stuck in bed for the rest of my life,” Lavellan raises his other hand to his face and covers his eyes with his forearm. “Oh _gods_ , I'm never going to have _sex_ again.”

Bull wants more than anything to scoop Lavellan up and cradle him in his arms, swear to him that everything is going to be alright and actually mean it.

He looks up when Dorian rises to his feet, needing to blink away tears he hadn't even noticed forming before he can make out his pale face. Dorian paces back and forth, one hand covering his mouth like he's expecting vomit to rise up any second.

Bull leaves him be. He doesn't care. He tries really hard to not care.

“Why don't you just cut the anchor off and kill me?” Lavellan's voice drops back down, resigned to a whisper. “It's the only useful part of me left.”

“Shut up,” Bull mutters, no real anger in his words but a lot of restrained rage within. He should have fucking noticed that last Templar – how the hell did it make it past him back there? He should have been paying attention, not gotten cocky and missed, of all the damn things, a hole in the ground. “Fucking, goddamnit. No, Kadan. You _will not_ die on me.”

He rests his palm on Lavellan's forehead, each shallow sob rocking his body and cracking deeper into Bull's heart like an ice pick.

Bull refuses to mourn. He refuses to think about how everything he'd planned for them, all the places he'd meant to take Lavellan, all the things they'd been too fucking busy saving the world to do – all of that could be taken away in an instant. He convinces himself he's not thinking of it, that those thoughts are still buried and he's safe from them.

He wants to scream, to crush the stone around him and have it crush him in return.

“Okay,” Dorian says, stopping in his pacing. He stares straight ahead, looking at neither of them, tension holding him stock still. “I may be able to do something.”

“What?” Bull says. Lavellan either doesn't hear or doesn't put any meaning to the words, still just quietly crying. “I swear, if you say you think you can actually take the anchor off, I will fucking – “

“No! Of course not,” Dorian hisses. Then he turns his head to the ceiling and calls out, “Cassandra! Can you hear me?” There's no response. “ _Shit_.”

Bull bellows in his place, his voice echoing through the room. “Cassandra!”

This time, there's just a few seconds before a distant call sinks down from above them. “Bull! Have you found the Inquisitor?”

Dorian huffs and this time actually yells from his chest, dropping any decorum about keeping his voice steady. “Yes! We've found him. He's alive but – but he needs healing. Could you stay there and keep watch?”

“Are you sure? There's nothing left, it should be safe to –”

“No! I'm going to need to concentrate. Please, just make sure _absolutely nothing_ comes down here.”

In the silence before she responds, Bull can practically imagine Cassandra narrowing her eyes down at them, shoulders set with annoyance. “If that is what you need.”

Bull expects Dorian to relax, but he doesn't, even as he crouches on the other side of Lavellan's body. Lavellan's run out of tears, his grip gone slack around Bull's hand. He just breaths, every inhale weaker than the last, like even managing that is becoming impossible.

“This may not work,” Dorian says. “I make no promises. I've studied it only in theory.”

“I don't care,” Bull growls. “If there's anything, anything at all, just do it.”

The stare Dorian levels Bull with has enough gravity to actually pull Bull out from his frenzy and listen. “What happens down here, never leaves. Do you understand me?” He speaks in low tones, deliberate and slow with every syllable, giving each one a chance to sink in. “Not a word, to a single soul.”

There's a brief pause before Bull realizes Dorian is actually waiting for him to respond. Where Bull would expect to find warning bells ringing in his mind, all he finds is desperation for any chance of getting the future he'd planned back.

He nods.

“Then,” Dorian swallows. “Pass me his knife.”

Bull picks up Lavellan's smaller dagger from where it had fallen and hands it over before he even thinks about it.

Dorian grips it, releases a slow exhale, and slices his own palm open.

“Oh, _fuck no_ , you goddamn _crazy Vint bastard._ ” Bull panics and lunges for Dorian's hand, but Dorian jerks away from him in time.

The steely look in Dorian's wet and bloodshot eyes stops him. “What other option do we have, Bull?”

“I don't – you don't know what could happen. Not with that damn doorway to the Fade on his hand. Do you seriously want a demon to crawl out and into your stupid fucking head?”

“Sorry, but _how long_ have you studied magic for? And, pardon me, if either of you had ever seen a demon expel itself from Lavellan's hand, I sure hope one of you would have told me!”

“I don't trust – “

“Of course you don't! You don't have to, this isn't your choice,” Dorian hisses. “ _Do not_ try to talk me out of this.”

“Do it,” Lavellan croaks from below, staring up at Bull with wide eyes that betray no fear, just burning desperation and an anguish Bull has never seen in him before.

Bull feels his resolve crack. What the hell can _he_ do to make this better? Standing in the way of their only option certainly won't help.

“Okay. Fine.”

Dorian nods. “If you see anything weird happening, just – use your judgement. Actually, no. Don't. Use Lavellan's judgement.” He leans over Lavellan, fist clenched above his face. “Mahanon, are you ready?”

Lavellan nods, eyes fixed on Dorian's hand like it's a knife about to impale him.

“Open your mouth.”

Lavellan does, and Dorian unfurls his fingers, a slow drip of blood falling from his palm. Bull's not sure what to expect. He's never seen fucking blood magic before, wonders if there's going to be a big flash or explosion or any visible sign it's working. Or anything to indicate it's definitely _not_ working.

Instead, after maybe the sixth thick crimson drop hits Lavellan's tongue, Dorian's entire body shudders. Lavellan's mouth just stays open, a high-pitched whine escaping his throat while his eyes look like they might bulge out.

“And how is this meant to help again?” Bull asks, hands itching for his axe as Dorian presses a palm to his forehead like he's trying to keep something trapped inside it.

Dorian removes his hand, staring at it in wonder. “I should be able to – no, I can, I can feel what's going on better. My hands can, it's as if – I can see, and feel, and – in theory, meld things back together.”

Lavellan just keeps his eyes on Dorian's hands as they stretch out and hover several inches above his chest. Without touching him at all, Dorian makes a slight pushing motion downward, and suddenly Lavellan exhales, a huge breath of air expelled from his lungs.

“Hey!” Bull snaps, but is unwilling to touch Dorian in that moment. Lavellan blinks several confused times, looking like something bitter just trickled down his throat. “Don't fucking suffocate him with that freaky shit.”

“Oh please, he'd been holding that breath for a whole damn minute now. Relax.” Dorian shuts his eyes and trails his hands over Lavellan's body, kept an even few inches from his skin at all times. Lavellan just looks as if bugs are crawling down his limbs, uncomfortable and like he wants nothing more than to squirm and slap them away. At least it doesn't look painful.

Dorian finally withdraws his hands, which makes Lavellan's fingers twitch. “Okay. Well, even I'll admit this is on some other plane of absurdity.” His lips curl up, and he still looks grim but speaks with a renewed confidence that Bull envies.

“Should we move him?” Bull asks. The jagged rocks around Lavellan's legs don't bode well for getting them healed.

“Under usual circumstances, I'd say no. But I don't think there's much more damage we can do, so might as well.”

“Hold tight, Kadan.” Like picking threads out of a bramble bush, Bull and Dorian work to lift Lavellan out of the rubble. Lavellan bites his lip and keeps his eyes clenched shut, but little hitched breathes still escape when rustle him too hard. He flat out yelps when Dorian lifts his back. “Hey, careful – “

“Oh please. I can practically feel his every muscle, do you truly believe I would be reckless right now? _You_ are the one that keeps jostling his left shoulder.”

“ _Gods_ , just hurry up,” Lavellan groans.

Dorian flinches and Bull mutters an apology. Bull shifts down to lift Lavellan's legs, while Dorian places his hands under his arms.

The two of them nod to each other, and then lift. Bull expects a scream, but instead all they get is a sound like someone's squeezing a hand around Lavellan's throat. They slowly set him down on flat ground, Bull trying not to think too hard about the deadweight of Lavellan's legs.

Bull chances a look at the rocks that had broken Lavellan's fall. Where his back had covered, there's a pool of blood, still dripping down into the rocky crevices.

“I'm so sorry, Mahanon,” Dorian says, looking at the same nausea-inducing sight. “I wish I could offer you a healing potion to numb the pain at all. I'm afraid it might affect this... process.” He bends down, holding a hand over Lavellan's abdomen, and then his fingertips start to glow the same color as their torches. Bull can see the moment Lavellan feels it, his fingers unfolding as he exhales. “That should stop the blood at least.”

“Thanks,” Lavellan sighs.

“I'm going to start with resetting your legs, alright?” Dorian moves down towards them. “Since you thankfully aren't going to feel that.”

Outside of the rocks, it's even easier to see the sickening new twists and angles in the bones. Bull has actually seen people in pretty similar conditions, but they had all been dead by the time he reached them. Or begging for a merciful death, which he usually granted.

“Bull?” Lavellan whispers, and Bull tears his eyes away from his legs. “Please, can you come – ”

“Yes, shit, of course.” Bull moves over and sits next to Lavellan's head, offering his hand. Lavellan takes with one of his own and looks up at Bull, and the second their eyes meet, Bull knows. He's terrified. “Kadan, listen to me. It's all gonna be fine. Dorian's going to get you back up and walking out of here, alright?”

Bull tries to stomp down the thought that rises to his brain. _Liar_.

Dorian shuts his eyes and rolls his shoulders, then gets to work. He uses one hand to physically shift Lavellan's ankle back into place, the other hand glowing and hovering above it. There's a tiny snap, which makes Dorian abruptly stop and look up at Lavellan. “Did you feel that?”

“No. I just feel – warm. Floating. Am I meant to feel something?”

“No, not yet,” Dorian says. “Luckily.”

“You've really never done this before, have you?” Bull asks, noting the sweat building on Dorian's forehead.

“The opportunity has never presented itself, no. Friends that I'm willing to commit blood magic for don't often fall off cliffs.”

Bull watches for a few minutes as Dorian builds slowly works up from feet to knees, gaining momentum with each bone and muscle he bonds back together. It's the _crack_ of Lavellan's femur that turns his fascination into nausea.

Lavellan just stares above, hand squeezing Bull's whenever a bone snaps. He breathes slow and deep, unnervingly calm.

“Does it hurt?” Bull asks, brushing Lavellan's hair out of his eyes.

“No. I keep thinking it will but – gods, it's like nothing's there.”

“Well, damn. That's good.” Bull's dealt with some pain in the past that would probably drive weaker men into insanity, but even he doesn't know if he'd be able to stomach this.

“It's not!” Lavellan snaps. “Stop saying it is, both of you!”

The glow around Dorian's hands fades as he and Bull jolt back and share a look. Lavellan's voice loses its fire as quickly as it came, dropping back to a harsh whisper. “I _wish_ it fucking hurt.”

“Sorry, Kadan,” Bull mutters, because there isn't anything else he can find to say.

“We should be done soon,” Dorian says. “And then we'll... get to that.”

The last few minutes stretch out in silence, Dorian and Lavellan's brows both furrowed in unison. Then, finally, Dorian pulls back, shifting his hands above Lavellan's legs like he's polishing a sword. “Okay,” he says, wiping his brow. “It may need some fine-tuning later, but I'll be damned. I may finally be able to call myself a healer.”

Lavellan's legs have regained their natural shape, no longer looking like the winding roads of a map.

“I'm going to need a moment,” Dorian says, and Bull sees that his fingers are shaking in the split second before he shoves them into his pockets. “Allow me to catch my breath.”

In the few minutes of quiet, Lavellan falls into an eerie calm that just makes Bull tense. His eyes stop darting around, drooping instead into half-lids and staring at the pinpoint light above them. “You hanging in there?” Bull asks, giving his hand a hard squeeze.

“Yeah,” he responds, completely flat.

Bull doesn't know what warning signs to look for – this isn't like any battle he's ever navigated. He feels caught in the dark, like he's surrounded by enemies waiting for him to make a wrong move. Would a demon show up just to make Lavellan calm before snatching away his mind? Had he already been taken? Dorian would have noticed, right? Unless Dorian also had already –

“Alright,” Dorian says, interrupting Bull's paranoia. Bull looks over and sees him swallow, Lavellan's bloody dagger back in his hands. “This is happening.” He makes another thin line on his palm, and reaches over to Lavellan's face.

“Just in case,” Dorian whispers. Lavellan doesn't change his expression, just opens his mouth and lets the drops of blood fall down his throat. There isn't any sort of reaction from either of them this time, but Bull's heart races at the sight. It's unnatural. It's everything he's been told to fear. It's probably their only hope.

“I – this is going to hurt, Mahanon. I don't know how much.” Dorian kneels, resting his hands on his thighs. “Just know that I'm... sorry.”

“He's actually going to feel this then?”

“Oh, yes. I need you to stay as still as possible, alright?” Dorian says, locking eyes with Bull instead. It won't be the first time Bull's had to restrain someone, and luckily Lavellan's hardly a match for him, even at full strength.

“Okay,” Lavellan says softly.

Dorian moves his hands over Lavellan's abdomen, pausing with closed eyes.

He twitches his index finger. Lavellan hisses, arching up off the rocks before Bull can force him back down. Dorian opens one eye to stare at Bull. Bull expects anger or a coy “I-told-you-so”, but instead all he sees is the look of a man walking into an execution chamber. He shuts it once Bull places his hand on Lavellan's shoulders, firmly this time, and nods.

“Well, if anyone has any prayers to say,” Dorian whispers. “Now is the time.”

Dorian actually gives them a few seconds of courtesy. Lavellan just keeps his eyes shut and jaw clenched – if he's praying, it's silent and doesn't bring him any peace. Bull wonders if the elven gods would approve of this sort of magic if they got wind of it, or if they'd just condemn the three of them to stay down there forever.

“Here,” Bull says, moving from having both hands on Lavellan's shoulders to just one in the center of his sternum. He has no doubt that will still be enough. “You can hold on to me.” Lavellan raises his arms up, the movement clearly aching, and wraps his hands around Bull's wrist.

Bull knows the second Dorian starts, because nails immediately dig deep into his skin and a scream fills the room.

The sharp pain in his arm and ringing in his ears forces a hiss out of Bull that he feels but can't hear. With clenched eyes and head tilted back, Lavellan keeps screaming, sounding like a wild animal with its flesh being torn to shreds. He pushes up against Bull's arm with a strength Bull has never seen in him.

“Kadan, fuck. _Kadan_. It's alright, I'm here. You're okay.” Bull pets his hair with his free hand, but it doesn't stop the anguished cries from resounding through the room. “Is this normal?”

“Fuck if I know,” Dorian says, his face screwed up in concentration. “I'm literally stitching his nerves back together, what do you suppose that should feel like?”

“ _Shit_ ,” Bull curses when Lavellan starts dragging his nails up his forearm, scratching out lines of cuts. He can't move his hand though, knowing Lavellan would shoot right up if he did. “Kadan, you hear me? It's okay, it's alright, you're doing great.”

Lavellan stops screaming just long enough to huff a few gasping breaths. Bull cups his cheek while he does, fingers laying across wet tear trails.

“ _Stop!”_ Lavellan yells, and Bull has to bear down on his chest to hold him in place. “Please, gods, I can't take it! Stop, please, Dorian!”

Bull looks up at Dorian, who just shakes his sweating head. “Sorry. We have to – “

Lavellan flings his eyes open and shoots up a hand to grab one of Bull's horns. “Bull, please, please, stop him, Bull, _ma vhenan_ , make him stop, _please_.”

Bull knows he's never going to forget the sight of Lavellan beneath him, eyes red around the edges, lips stained with blood, pleading with him as if Bull was twisting a knife into his back.

“Can't we knock him out or something?” Bull growls at Dorian.

“I'm _directly_ touching his spine, Bull, even if we could, he'd wake back up immediately.”

A call sounds from above, Cassandra's voice as frantic as she ever could be. “Is everything alright? I hear screaming.”

“Yes!” Bull roars. “We're doing just fucking great!”

“Bull, you know she's not going to – “ The light fades a touch from Dorian's hands as he yells, “Yes, we're fine! Please, just stay up there!”

The slight pause offers Lavellan no relief. He stops begging at least, screams becoming wordless once again as his hand clutches Bull's horn.

Bull brushes his hand through Lavellan's hair. It always helps ground him, when he's deep in thought with plans or the stress takes his head someplace far away, the familiar tug on his scalp always pulling him back. Lavellan doesn't even notice it now.

“Kadan, you're okay,” Bull leans over to say directly over his face, needing to raise his voice to be heard over the screams. “You are strong. You're handling this so well. Just hang in there a little more. It's almost over.”

He glances up at Dorian to gauge the actual truth of that. Dorian's hair has fallen out of its perfect coif, instead sticking flat to his forehead. His eyes and mouth both quiver in either pain or focus or both, but his hands manage to stay completely steady. Bull can tell he's going to have one hell of a bruised lip when he eventually stops biting it.

Lavellan's screams start to crack like his throat has dried up. When his voice finally dies out, the echoes of it still swimming through Bull's head, he flings his eyes open. He looks crazed, blown-out pupils only inches from Bulls but not seeing him at all.

“I'm here, Kadan, it's Bull, come on – look at me. Stay with me. I'm here.”

His eyes squeeze back shut and his mouth falls open again, but this time only a high-pitched whine makes it out of him. Bull wipes the tears from the sides of his eyes, but more just come tumbling out.

“Okay,” Dorian whispers. “We're done.” Bull looks up to see him sitting back with knees up and eyes shut, all energy wrung out of him. “Just... give me a few minutes.” He curls his head down into his knees, arms coming up to wrap around his head.

The only sound left is Lavellan's shallow gasps, and then even those fade away. He only releases his nails from Bull's wrist and horn once Bull pries his fingers away, holding his cold, slack hands in his instead. Bull then wraps one of his hands around a shaking wrist, checking his pulse to reassure his own fears.

“Did it work?” Bull asks.

“Well, if he gets up and walks in a few days, then I guess we'll have our answer.”

Lavellan stares straight above, lips wide open and stained with blood, chest just barely rising and falling.

Bull thinks he looks like he's caught in a never-ending fall, unaware that he's already hit the ground.

* * *

“Maker! Is he – “

“He's alive, Cassandra,” Dorian says. “Somehow.”

Cassandra rises to her feet, stepping closer to them at the exact second that Bull steps back, clutching Lavellan tighter in his arms.

“You are sure? He looks like a corpse.”

“He'll be fine.” Dorian glances over to Lavellan, who Bull wishes would just fall unconscious already, wishes that could have happened long ago. His wide eyes just stare, flicking around every once in a while like there's a scene playing out in front of him that Bull can't see. Bull holds him against his chest, trying to keep his pale, shell-shocked face hidden. “He was on the edge of death when we found him, but – he'll make it through.”

Cassandra looks between the three of them, Dorian with his arms folded and eyes fixed on a random point on the wall, and Bull hunched over Lavellan with eyes only for him.

“You all look like you've walked straight out of the Fade again.” Cassandra's voice is soft, but Bull doesn't miss the tone of suspicion in the fall of her words. “We should return to Skyhold, at once.”

“No, I – I think it's best that we lay low for a few days. Just while he recovers. We don't want to be an easy target,” Dorian says.

“I... I suppose,” Cassandra falters. “Let's not dwell longer than necessary – those Templars found us once, let's not give them a chance to find us here again.”

“A few days, max.” Dorian runs a hand through his hair. “For now, I'm going to go... walk around for a bit. If I don't come back within... you know what, never mind.” He turns and leaves, so sluggish it's a wonder he makes it up the stairs.

“Bull? Are you alright?”

Bull doesn't look up, hardly registers the question. He nods instinctively. The answer to that has always been yes, will always be yes, no matter what goes on in his head.

“I will go... find someone to send word to the scouts.” Cassandra bends down to gather her sword and shield. “Please, let me know anything I can do to assist. Take care, Bull.”

She leaves too. Bull moves over to a corner, good as anywhere else in this cursed cave, and sinks to the ground. He holds Lavellan in his lap, keeping his eye on the face bathed in sickly blue light. Even in the silence, Bull has to bend his head forward to hear any of Lavellan's breaths.

He'd give anything to have Lavellan just look at him, see him and give him that soft little smile that he shows no one else. Like Bull is the most marvelous thing the world has given him, his own little messy secret to unravel bit by bit.

Like Bull can do anything for him.

“Stay with me, Kadan.”

Bull curls his arms tight around Lavellan, presses his head against his beating chest, and pretends that's enough to protect him.

* * *

 Lavellan wakes up while Bull wipes him down with a damp cloth, scrubbing off patches of dried blood as gently as he can manage. Which isn't very gentle, considering the way the blood has stuck to Lavellan's skin like a coat of war-paint.

Bull can see the moment the memories come floating back, sleepy disorientation turning to horror on his face. Lavellan's eyebrows pinch together, face set in concentration for several seconds, before his expression loosens and his eyes slip back shut. The two of them sigh in unison.

His legs don't move at all.

“Morning, Kadan.”

“Hi,” Lavellan groans, throwing one arm over his eyes.

“How're you doin'?”

“Sore. Tired.” He picks at the rough blanket under his bare skin, the one Dorian had managed to find in the village nearby. Bull thinks its equally likely he seduced someone for it or just threw coins at people until they brought him a blanket suitable to his tastes. “You wouldn't happen to have a flask of something on you, would you?”

Bull snorts. “'Course I do. Probably not a good idea, though.”

“That's a lot, coming from you.”

With one last swipe, Bull manages to clear the stain of blood off Lavellan's shoulder. “I'm going to turn you over now, alright? Gotta get your back.”

Lavellan just nods permission. Bull tries to roll him with as little force as possible, but ends up needing to untangle his legs into a comfortable position in the end. Even though he'd gotten a glimpse earlier when undressing him, Bull still pauses and swallows at the swash of dried blood covering the arch of Lavellan's lower back.

It's not even a huge amount of blood – the wound already healed, leaving behind only a white scar. Bull's seen worse – the tapestry of scars across his body is a testament to the fact that he's experienced worse himself plenty of times. It still stirs up a cocktail of emotions in him that makes his fist tighten around the cloth in his hand.

He dunks it in his bowl of water and starts scrubbing with vigor, the blood coming off in thick, dry flakes.

“Where's Dorian and Cassandra?” Lavellan rests the side of his face on his folded arms.

“They went out to do some basic recon. Gathering obsidian, or something like that. Keeping busy.”

Lavellan hums, the tone deep and coming straight from his throat. It makes his back vibrate under Bull's hand. “Are you going crazy, without anything to do?”

“I've got plenty to do here.”

Bull doesn't get a response. After this, Bull will need to move on to washing out the scrapes littered across Lavellan's legs. The thought of that, of handling limp muscle and deadweight bones, makes Bull cringe. So instead he keeps washing his back, focusing on getting the entire thing cleaner than an Orlesian noble's ass.

“Sorry,” Lavellan mutters. “For... all the trouble.”

“Nope, not accepted. Get that shit out of your head, Kadan.”

“I mean it. You and Dorian – you did so much for me back there, you didn't have to – “

“We both made our own choices. That's not on you.”

“But if I hadn't – “

“ _Stop_.” Bull doesn't mean for it to come out as a growl, but it does and it immediately shuts Lavellan up. “This isn't your fault.”

Lavellan turns his face deeper into his arms, no longer speaking. Silence doesn't usually grate at Bull, not like some people who need to fill every moment with noise. It's not uncommon for the two of them to simply exist together, quiet and still.

This feels different. Bull wants to carry Lavellan out of there, free him from the harsh and quiet darkness of this cave and hear him chatter about the land around him. The herbs, the animals, the trees. The stuff that Bull usually tunes out in favor of just hearing the sound of Lavellan speak.

“Can you – how are your legs doing?” Bull finally manages to ask.

“They're... They don't hurt. I can't move them, but I can sort of feel them.”

“Sort of?”

“It's like – I'm kind of aware that they're being touched, but it doesn't feel like they're _mine_. My brain gets that 'legs are being touched', but it's like. Are those my legs?” Lavellan sighs. “Does that make any sense?”

“No,” Bull admits. “Not at all.”

“Yeah, I don't really get it either.” Lavellan readjusts his arms, and his voice comes out muffled by his elbow. “How about 'tingly'? Does 'tingly' make sense?”

“Sure does.”

“Great. They're completely immobile and so tingly I might lose my damn brain.”

* * *

Neither of them are used to boredom.

Bull can't remember the last day when he'd had nothing to do – there had always either been a contract with the Chargers, some operative straight from Par Vollen, or nowadays, some insane shit about dead magisters or holes in the sky.

He can tell Lavellan is the same way. Hunting for an entire clan can't have been easy, especially when constantly on the move. And recently, it's been a miracle to catch him with any free time, a sheer stroke of luck to even snatch a glimpse of him between diplomatic meetings or whatever those advisors send him off to do.

Bull had been excited to finally get back out on the field with him again, the long journey to the Emerald Graves giving them time to catch up and steal a few moments of privacy.

Waiting on edge for days in an abandoned cave hadn't really been part of the plan.

Lavellan sits in between Bull's legs with his back against his chest, flipping lazily through that journal he always keeps with him, full of scribbled notes and drawings of plants. It's not rare to turn around and see him off on the side of the path, jotting down a note about some shrub. Bull does try to stop him from eating random herbs off the ground, but Lavellan insists that taste is one of the most important identifiers and that he can _definitely_ tell when something's going to be poison or not. Bull didn't miss the one time he was wrong, when he wore his scarf up over his nose to hide a bright red rash.

He's already been through the entire journal at least twice, out of notes to add. Instead he's just shading in sketches, adding unnecessary cross-hatching to each of them.

Bull digs his fingers into Lavellan's shoulders and neck, enjoying the little sighs and hums he can pull out of sore muscles. Lavellan's hair is already a black mess of tightly pleated Qunari-style braids. Bull considers taking them out and restarting the entire thing, just for something to do.

Dorian had said he's not sure how many days it'll be until they know. A week without any movement meant it probably wasn't going to happen at all. Bull doesn't understand magic, doesn't really care to, but he does know that the more the healing hurts, the more likely it is to actually make a difference. And that had clearly hurt _a lot._

Only one day, so far. Not long enough to bother figuring out the... what-ifs. But he doesn't know how long that will last without something to distract him.

“Hey, Bull?”

“Hmm?”

“What do they do to people like me in the Qun?”

Lavellan doesn't often ask about Bull's old life, probably because Bull doesn't often care to talk about it. “What do you mean, people like you? Badass elves with looks that could kill?”

He gets a huff in response. “You know. Legless.”

“Stop that.”

Bull loathes the idea of following his thoughts down this path. But Lavellan twists his head around to peer up at Bull and waits. He actually wants an answer. Bull rolls his eye as Lavellan pokes him in the thigh. “Tell me.”

“Fine. As long as they're still willing to devote their life to the Qun, there's always still a use for them.”

Lavellan tilts his head to get a better look with narrowed eyes. “I can't tell if you're lying to me.”

“Well, Kadan. I guess you'll never know.”

* * *

“Bull.”

He stops at the top of stairs, on his way out of the ruins to finally get some fresh air and relieve himself. Cassandra stands near the entrance, resting her weight on the hilt of her sword thrust into the ground.

“Hey there.”

“How is the Inquisitor?”

Bull reaches up and scratches the base of one of his horns. “Could be worse. Dorian's got him on some _real_ nice potions to ease the pain. Hardly knows who he is right now.”

“That is... comforting, I suppose.”

“Yup.” Bull looks around, Cassandra still staring at him. “Did you need somethin' else? I'm about to piss my pants and we definitely don't have another pair in my size.”

“What really happened down there?”

“Down – where?“

“Do not play dumb, Iron Bull. After the fall. You and Dorian will hardly speak to me, and you've stashed Lavellan away with a hundred excuses why he cannot be seen.”

He lets out a sigh, crossing his arms. Even if he could fool Cassandra by himself, Dorian's jumpiness and over-detailed excuses were bound to plant suspicion. “No one believes a word I say today, huh? Did rumor get out that my name used to mean 'liar'”?

“That, I would actually believe.”

“Hah.” Bull moves closer to Cassandra and leans against the damp stone wall next to her. He scoots his feet out so that they end up even at eye level. With most people, intimidation is a better tactic for convincing. But with Cassandra, Bull's pretty sure she'd rather be spoken to as an equal. “Listen, sorry about all the... caginess. We just didn't want it getting out, causing a panic back at Skyhold or somethin'.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lavellan was... damn close to death.” A quiver in his voice. A brief glance down. “Probably a few minutes later and – well, we got lucky.”

Cassandra purses her lips and shuts her eyes. Bull knows that she cares about Lavellan as a friend, but also knows that her deepest loyalties fall to greater goods than the people around her. She must know the world would be pretty fucked without him.

“Don't tell him I told you this, but. Dorian came pretty close to dying himself. No lyrium left and no time to get more. And with all that healing? He's needing this time to recover just as much as Lavellan.”

“That... makes sense. I had never seen the two of you nearly that shaken.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. We weren't completely sure Lavellan wasn't going to just... we should be in the clear now, though.” The frown he forces on his face is fake, just a show to convince her. In actuality, Bull wants nothing more than to go blank, stare into the void and feel nothing at all. ”Sorry. Just didn't want anyone freaking out.”

Cassandra pinches her nose just before a frustrated breath can leave it. Bull can see in the stress that she tries so hard to hide that actually she buys it this time.

“It's astounding the things that come close to killing us, isn't it? You three can survive a trip through the Fade, but a hole in the ground?” She shakes her head. “Maker watch over us.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

Cassandra looks over at him, and there's a sympathy in her eyes that Bull hardly expects coming from her. Let alone directed at him, of all people.

“I know that you and Lavellan are – well. What I'm trying to say is...” She tilts her head, pity twisting the corners of her mouth up into a tiny smile. “Do you need somebody to hit you with a stick?”

Bull opens his mouth to say no. Instinct tells him to refuse anything offered as charity, that the best thing to do is pretend everything's fine, to shrug it all off and throw himself back into caring for Lavellan.

“You know what? That would be fucking great.”

* * *

“I can still suck your dick all the time,” Lavellan says, one finger raised in the air as he suddenly speaks up, the first time in at least an hour. “Definitely don't need legs for that.”

“Uh huh,” Bull responds as Lavellan's finger comes to rest on his chin instead, his face settling into _very_ deep thought.

“You could probably still fuck me actually. I guess I won't really be able to feel it and you'd have to do most of the work. But we could give it a shot. Right?”

Bull snorts and laughs. “Come on, give Dorian some faith.” He bends over and pecks a light kiss on Lavellan's lips. “And trust me, we're going to have the freakiest sex ever once this is over. I'll _really_ put those legs to use.”

Lavellan doesn't laugh back, but still grabs Bull by the horns and jerks him back down for a kiss so rough it surprises even Bull. He hears burning need in the groan that vibrates down Lavellan's throat. And even when his breath starts to run out, Bull refuses to pull away.

* * *

Bull can't tell what time it is when he wakes up, just knows that it's dark, cold, and definitely several hours too early. In the eerie silence, he has no idea what's dragged him out of a shockingly restful sleep, but does know he'd like to strangle whatever it is. The damp stone below doesn't offer much cushion, but he's spent years sleeping on bare ground and never had a problem with it before.

And then he feels a tremor against his arm, and hears a hiccup that breaks down into a muffled sob. Even as several languages of curses run through his head, he's suddenly both very alert and very grateful that the small amount of noise was enough to wake him up.

There's a strained gasp for air that just fuels another sob, the uneven breaths rocking the body next to Bull. “'C'mere,” he mumbles, making Lavellan's shoulders jolt to his ears. Bull wraps an arm around him, pulling so that he rolls over until they're face-to-face.

Webs of red lines cover the whites of Lavellan's eyes, the only thing Bull can clearly make out in the dark. Bull pulls Lavellan's palm away from his mouth, keeping it instead clasped in his own hand.

“I'm sorry, I – I can't stop – “

“Hush, it's alright.” Bull presses Lavellan's head into his collarbone, tucking his own chin on top of a mess of black hair. He holds him close as hot tears drip into his chest, each breath coming out as either a choked cry or a frantic grasp for more air. “You're alright, Kadan. I've got you.”

The first full sob, the first one that doesn't sound like it's being stomped down before it can make it to the surface, rings out loud and clear. Bull waits, powerless to do more than just hold him tight, as a wave of cries floods his body. With fingers dug into his shoulder-blades, Lavellan weeps, and if he notices a few drops fall on his own head, it doesn't make a difference.

“Stop mourning yourself,” Bull whispers, once Lavellan has run out of breath. “Everything's going to be alright. I'm going to make damn sure of it.”

It's the least he can do, he thinks, after not being able to stop any of this in the first place.

* * *

Lavellan lies on top of Bull's chest, tracing each scar with delicate precision. Bull's kind of surprised when he can pick out ones even he'd forgotten existed. He comes across one of those, a tiny white seam right under Bull's armpit, pauses, and taps on it.

“Ah, that one was... shit, where was that from again?” Bull scratches his chin. “Oh! We were taking out some bandits that were causin' trouble along this road to some noble's house. Robbing all his guests or something.”

“Poor things.”

“Hah, I know, right? Anyways, one of them had some surprise throwing knives. Got me right there. You should use those more often, you know? Can really get the jump on someone.”

“Eh. Don't want to carry a ton of extra knives. Weighs me down. I know you wouldn't get that, carrying around that axe twice the size of me and all.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dorian emerges from the stairwell at that moment, so Bull helps Lavellan climb off him and sit up. Dorian doesn't bother offering a greeting, just sits down across from them with a heavy sigh. Bull can see exhaustion clear on his face for once, bags hanging like purple curtains around his eyes.

“Neither of you have told Cassandra, right? She's acting rather strange around me.”

“Nope, not me.” Bull shakes his head, Lavellan doing the same. “I think that's just her best attempt at showing concern.”

Dorian huffs, then leans forward towards Lavellan, giving his body a once-over. Bull's not sure what he's even looking for, what he could even see through a layer of clothes. “How's it all going, by the way?”

“It's been okay,” Lavellan says. “I've got a lot of feeling back, at least. Even if it is all prickly still.”

Dorian gives that a nod. “Well, that's good.”

“I _did_ notice,” Lavellan says with a sly smile, “that if I pinch my right middle toe, I feel it in my left. But I won't tell anyone about that if you won't.” He gives Dorian a wink, who just grins and shakes his head.

“Any movement at all?” Dorian asks.

Lavellan goes quiet, the playful teasing in his face fading away as he looks down. “It feels like I should be able to. Like, I tell them to move, and there's just... no answer. Maybe I've just forgotten how. Is that possible?”

Dorian's expression darkens too, and he rests one hand on Lavellan's forearm at the same time that he sighs. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I wish I could do more.”

Lavellan shakes his head frantically. “No, Dorian. Even this is already so much.” He places his hand over Dorian's. “Someday I'll find a way to thank you, I swear.”

“Oh, trust me, that day will never happen. Let's just pile this one on top of the everything else I've done for the Inquisition, hmm?” The two grin at each other, even if it is more subdued and tight-lipped than their usual banter.

Bull coughs. “Is there any way they could still...?”

“Oh Bull, don't tell me after all this time you still doubt me?” Dorian rolls his shoulders. The rest of his friendly candor leaves with it. “But, well. The feeling is still improving, right?”

“Yeah,” Lavellan says with a nod.

“Then yes. Of course things can still get better.” Dorian stands and turns to leave, pausing in the stairwell with his back to them, voice dropping down to a heavy mutter. “Have some faith in me, please. Somebody needs to.”

* * *

The air in the underground ruins had chilled enough to spread pinprick bumps down Bull's arms. Must be night time, he thinks. With a complete lack of natural light, Bull's gotten used to telling time simply by how much the damp air makes him shiver.

At the very least, boredom and darkness had messed with Lavellan's sleep rhythm just as much. Bull is grateful he isn't left alone to listen to the water dripping in the distance and wind howling through the halls, like he had been a few hours ago.

Bull holds Lavellan's leg with one hand on his knees and the other wrapped around his ankle. He keeps his grip just strong enough to push and stretch it, but weak enough that Lavellan could easily pull his leg out of Bull's grasp.

Easily.

“Anything?”

“No.” Lavellan folds his arms across his chest.

“Hmm. Maybe you should stop thinking of the actual movement itself. Have you tried just closing your eyes and picturing yourself, you know, walking out of here?”

“I swear, Bull, I'm trying. There's only so many ways to tell my damn muscles to move. _Ow –_ stop that!”

Bull doesn't let up on his pinch on Lavellan's calf. He dodges out of the way easily when Lavellan throws a pebble at his arm. No kick to the face though, sadly.

“Fine, fine. Just thought that would jog something in your head.”

“Yeah, sure. You're just eager to torture me.”

“ _Am_ I?” Bull grins, showing his teeth. Lavellan raises an eyebrow. “If I wanted to torture you, I'd just do _this_.”

Bull grabs Lavellan's foot and tickles the bottom of it. “Stop!” Lavellan yelps before dissolving quickly into laughter and elvhen curses. It's the first time he's laughed in days, and the sound drags a load of weight off Bull's heart. “This is _so_ unfair!”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

“I swear, I will – I will fucking kill you the second I can grab a knife.”

“Uh huh.” Bull finally stops when Lavellan nearly manages to use his arms to propel himself up, laughing and spitting affectionate insults at him the entire way.

After finally catching his breath, Lavellan slaps at Bull's arm, only for Bull to catch his hand and place a light apology kiss on his knuckles instead.

“That gives me an idea,” Lavellan says, still smiling. “Do you think if you carried me on piggy back to the rifts, we could just kill the demons with laughter?”

“Ooooh, nice strategy. Tiny elf screaming murder on top of a Qunari? I'd probably shit laughing at that myself.”

Bull lets go of Lavellan's legs and leans back on his elbows to his side. Lavellan tangles his fingers together and stretches them above his head.

For the first time in days, he doesn't look like an empty outline of himself, lacking any of the color or life that usually bursts out of him.

“Hey, can we go outside?” Lavellan whispers, the question so sudden it takes Bull a second to register.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I could use some fresh air.”

So Bull shrugs, wraps him up in their shared blanket, and lifts Lavellan into his arms, giving him the torch to hold. The two try their best to be quiet when sneaking past their sleeping companions, who Bull knows would push them tumbling back down the stairs if accidentally woken up.

The stars above are bright, the sky is clear of any clouds to hide them. Bull finds them a rocky ledge that overlooks the fields of wheat that dance in the soft wind. An owl calls from somewhere on the other side of a hill, but besides that, the night gives them space to be alone.

He helps Lavellan sit with his legs dangling off it before settling down next to him. Lavellan wraps the blanket around both their shoulders, shielding them from the chill and the drops of dew the wind carries.

Lavellan stares up at the expanse of stars above, blue eyes taking it all in like he's memorizing a map of the universe. Bull doesn't know where that map leads for Lavellan, just knows it brings him some form of peace.

When Bull looks up, all he can think about is how pointless any of this is. There's no calling for him, no purpose, just a lot of time spent running around and fighting to survive.

He has no idea what his future might look like, but he really hopes he can keep the man next to him in it.

“This is the sort of stuff that makes me know I'm not chosen by some god,” Lavellan says, voice hardly more than a whisper but louder than anything else in the night. “Gods don't send their heralds tumbling down holes in the floor.”

“Hah. Everyone would say this is just another miracle, wouldn't they?” Bull wraps his arm around Lavellan's shoulders, who tips his head to lean into him. “But you'll be up and running soon enough, you'll see. It'll all work out.”

Lavellan shuts his eyes, says nothing for a minute, and then whispers, “And if it doesn't?”

“Then I'll tear down Thedas to find someone who can fix it. And I'll love you the entire damn way.” Bull squeezes Lavellan's rigid shoulder. “Even if there's nothing we can do.”

Bull stares and tries not to panic as Lavellan curls forward, releasing a sigh that a sob suddenly cuts in half. He buries his head in his hands, his upper body pressed into his knees. But he doesn't cry. In fact, Bull can see he's more relaxed than he's been in days, body collapsing like he's finally been unshackled from a knot of chains.

Bull doesn't know what he said, what he would have done to –

Oh.

Oh, _shit_.

“Fuck. I hadn't said that yet, had I?”

Lavellan shakes his head in his hands. “I thought you were going to _leave_ me. If I couldn't get better, if the magic didn't work – “

“Ah, hell. I'm sorry, Kadan, I was just – “

“ – too wrapped up in guilt to think?”

Bull's throat goes tight. He tries to swallow as he pulls Lavellan back up, tucking his slack body into the crook of his arm. Lavellan leans into him, like he's lost the ability to hold himself up. “Yeah.” He moves his hand up to rest it on Lavellan's, tangling his fingers in his hair while he holds his head close. “Unfortunately for you, my love is fucking inescapable.”

He gets an exhale through Lavellan's nose, the closest thing to a laugh he figures either of them could manage.

“You know, I wouldn't blame you if you did leave,” Lavellan says, not opening his eyes. “So maybe it's selfish. But I _want_ you to stay with me. I want that _so much_.”

Bull doesn't know how to say that Lavellan's taken the words out of his own heart, that he's afraid of how much he could want something when all he's known is wanting for something greater than himself, so instead he just kisses him and hopes that says everything there is to say.

* * *

When Lavellan wakes up the next morning, it's the first time he doesn't have that sickening realization as he remembers where he is and all that's happened. He's done this for long enough that he knows exactly what's going on, waking up a half-lidded, sullen expression already on his face.

Until his foot comes up to scratch his knee.

Bull practically falls on top of him when he launches himself across the room. Lavellan's eyes widen, his pupils gone large and shaky. He swallows. Without daring to breath, as if he's tracking down a scared animal that's ready to bolt, he slowly pulls his knees up towards his chest. And then he reaches his hand down his pants, and tears well up in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” Bull asks, taking all the self-control he'd built up over decades to resist just pulling him into his arms.

The tears spill down Lavellan's cheeks. But the smile that spreads across his face tells Bull everything he needs to know.

“Yeah. Everything's okay.”


End file.
